


Without Castiel

by under_a_grey_cloud



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other, Season/Series 13 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 15:37:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12368811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/pseuds/under_a_grey_cloud
Summary: SPOILER FOR EPISODE 1 SEASON 13The notes and the story are both spoilers. Stop reading now if you don't want to know!Castiel is dead.Dean struggles to feel. All he feels is numb anger.Dean deals with his anger in the way he knows best.





	Without Castiel

**Author's Note:**

> This is raw and unedited. My Beta is stuck in the land of limited internet.
> 
> I know I will be very unpopular, but I didn't like the premiere. Except for Jack. Jack is new. I don't know what to expect. I wish I felt that way about Dean, but he's too predictable. I couldn't feel his pain. Maybe because I don't know how to; I'm so used to repressed Dean. I should have been moved to beyond tears, but I'm afraid I wasn't.
> 
> This is a guess at what Dean's feelings might have been that night, buried six feet under his heart.

Dean tried to feel something. Anything. He couldn’t. It was too big. He was numb.

 

He tried to cry. He couldn’t. He got a headache from stuck tears.

 

He had lost so much. His mother. Again. Castiel. Again. This time for good. He could feel this much in his heart. In his soul. Cas was gone. And he wasn’t coming back. Not this time. Not with the nephilim. Jack had stolen him. An angel. An angel he called his father. How fucked up was that?

 

Dean waited till everyone had gone. He waited while Sam gave him personal space. What a stupid concept. As if he owned a slice of the world’s space, like an extra large pizza. He bent down and looked at Cas. “I’m sorry I never told you I love you.” Stupid sequence of words. They meant nothing. Loving a dead angel reminded him of the few times his father had taken him to church. He’d hated the crucifix. Why was Jesus always portrayed as dying? What was the point of that? He should have been sculpted angry. Angry at the temple of false idols. Angry that his father had decided to kill his son. Was that Chuck? Was Chuck still God back then? Dean hated Chuck. He wished he could punch him. Instead he punched a sign on a bathroom door. It was not cathartic. Not at all.

 

Nothing was cathartic. Nothing was anything. Chuck was gone. Cas was dead. There was no reason to feel anymore. Except the transitory pain of bloody knuckles. Big fucking deal. Chuck didn’t give a damn. Hurt knuckles were about as important as a blade of grass.

 

He returned to Cas. Just to make sure. Just to verify what every atom of his being was screaming. Cas is dead! Cas is dead! Cas is dead dead dead dead dead. Dean knew he’d been a jerk. He knew that the gender of Cas’s vessel was irrelevant. He knew angels were ungendered. He didn’t care. Now. Finally. He didn’t care, now that Cas was dead. His stupid pride, fear of being judged, fear of being himself, none of that mattered. Cas was dead. He looked peaceful in death. More so than he ever looked in life. Cas never experienced peace in life. He was too busy trying to save Heaven, trying to save Earth, trying to save Dean, trying to merge his angel self with his human Dean. He was too busy trying to understand the human species. The species of his lover. It was sacrilegious. It was unrequited. It was never meant to be. Dean’s stupid fear had robbed Cas of his due.

 

Still Dean looked with unconditional love at Cas’s dead face. Cas wasn’t capable of anything other than unconditional love. Dean wasn’t capable of loving a vessel with a penis and testicles. It took death to make him realize how meaningless his aversion had been. It took death to make him realize what a fucking idiot he had been. No worries. He deserved no more.

 

__ ~ __

 

Cas had been a hunter. He’d hunted with Dean and Sam. He deserved a hunter’s funeral. Never mind his questioning eyes, his tilted head, his disappearing into angel radio. Never mind he was the only angel to want to understand. He was dead. The dead understand nothing. A hunter’s funeral burned any chance of Cas returning to his vessel. It didn’t matter. Cas was dead. Dean didn’t think he’d ever hear those words without feeling shot by a cannonball in his gut. Cas would never be alive again, never suffer Dean’s cruel jokes, never submit to Dean’s cruelest joke, locking away his feelings with deadbolts and chains, because loving a man, loving anyone, was too hard for him.

 

Dean looked at Cas’s hunter pyre with more emotion that he’d ever felt in his life. His mourning at the loss of his mother, which he’d never really felt. His fear for the loss of Sam’s soul, of losing his brother. Which remained hidden. His love for Bobby, broken to a wheelchair, finished off by death, which he never really acknowledged. Dean thought of his intentional pushing away of Cas’s love. He was finally overwhelmed by feelings. But to show them would be shameful, risky, like crying at a chick flick.

 

He took one last long look at Cas, stilled, and tossed his open lighter at the pyre. He felt nothing. His emotions burned with the pyre.

 

Cas was not coming back. Dean itched for the next case, the next kill. Whiskey numbed his feelings. Life made him bury them. Killing sharpened his feelings like pencils in a pencil sharpener.

 

He looked at Sam, hoping he had a lead on a new case. Dean needed to kill.


End file.
